


Distractions

by phoenixquest



Series: Ryndoril and Ondolemar [13]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Clothed Sex, Desk Sex, M/M, Partially Clothed Sex, Rough Sex, dominant Ondolemar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2253954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixquest/pseuds/phoenixquest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ondolemar's having a rough day, trying to get his work done and missing his Bosmer. Ryndoril shows up, taunting Ondolemar into abandoning his work for a little playtime - and Ondolemar shows him just who is calling the shots while Ryndoril is bent over his desk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distractions

Ondolemar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to simply _will_ his headache away. It was nothing a healing spell could cure, he knew, for it was merely caused by the strain of working over these papers for hours.

There had been a Forsworn attack in the city of Markarth a few nights previously; some traveler woman had been stabbed by a man yelling about the Forsworn in the marketplace just before it closed up for the day. Ondolemar hadn’t seen it, but the gossip had spread quickly enough that Elenwen heard of it. She immediately demanded that Ondolemar investigate everything surrounding the attack at once, ensuring he sent her regular reports with his findings.

He knew it was a waste of his time, as the Forsworn presence in the city was impossible to overlook anyhow. The Jarl was too stupid to see it, let alone do anything about it, but everyone else knew of it. They generally refrained from violence, however, and so not many tried to do anything about them. This attack was something of an anomaly. The Ambassador had decided that this constituted a possible threat to the Thalmor, though, so she insisted that Ondolemar investigate the situation. 

Reluctantly the Commander did as he was told, finding out what he could; the Nords of the city were hardly cooperative with him, of course, so it proved just as difficult as he’d anticipated. He’d thought of asking Ryndoril for help – the Bosmer’s charisma would surely help him find out more than he could on his own – but the wood elf hadn’t been around. Which, of course, was just _another_ source of frustration to the Commander.

He never liked it when Ryndoril left; the Bosmer was his greatest source of comfort and happiness, and being without him for any length of time reminded the Altmer how very dull his life was there in the Keep. It didn’t help when Ryndoril would come back, inevitably full of interesting stories about his adventures.

Ondolemar had thought perhaps getting out of Markarth and going on one of those adventures with the elf a month before would have helped; it had indeed turned out to be one of the more exciting things he’d done in quite some time, even if all the excitement wasn’t necessarily good. Since he had returned, though, he’d felt the longing to leave even more keenly than before.

The Commander didn’t _resent_ Ryndoril for going out to search a Dwemer ruin, or clear a fort of bandits, or rid the Reach of a few more of the Forsworn – of course he didn’t. It wasn’t as though the Bosmer was chained to his desk in the Keep. At that thought, Ondolemar couldn’t help smirking at himself; an appealing idea indeed, if unrelated to his current annoyance.

This time, the Bosmer had been gone a week, after promising to be back in a few days. Ondolemar knew it wasn’t fair to be bothered that it was taking longer; as his own venture into Winterhold had proven, sometimes situations arose that one could not control, making journeys take longer and causing who-knew-what other issues.

But he didn’t have to _like_ it.

He continued trying to decipher his hastily-written notes from the inn earlier in the day. He’d managed to get someone to talk to him there, a woman who seemed half out of her mind anyway, and had scribbled away some of the things she’d said regarding the Forsworn. It had made little sense to Ondolemar at the time, but his notes were all the more indecipherable now due to the crude drawing someone had made across them when he wasn’t looking. A badly-drawn, but nonetheless recognizable, Altmer in Thalmor robes, stabbed in the head with a dagger and his eyes crossed out. The artist had even found the time to add a few spatters of blood.

It was distasteful in the extreme, of course, but it didn’t exactly surprise him. He knew very well what most of the residents of the city thought of him and his associates. It bothered him though, perhaps more than it really should. He knew it wasn’t really a likely scenario, but the boldness of the artist still chilled him a little.

He suddenly had the odd feeling he was being watched; he froze, straining his ears to listen for any kind of movement, but nothing came. Then his nose caught a whiff of a different scent in the air; spicy, somewhat floral, and tinged with just a bit of something burnt. Ryndoril.

“Hello, Ryn,” Ondolemar said, a smirk coming to his lips. He didn’t even look up; he knew the scent, and in any case, no one else in the world could move as silently as the Bosmer.

“Hi,” Ryndoril said, a grin clear in his voice. “How’d you catch me this time?”

“Your scent,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “It’s really very cruel of you to continually try to sneak up on me,” he added reprovingly.

“Ah, come on,” Ryndoril said, now wrapping his arms around the Altmer’s neck in a hug from behind. Ondolemar couldn’t help the little sigh of relief he gave out at the Bosmer’s familiar touch. “I just like surprising you, love.”

“So I’ve come to realize,” Ondolemar replied. “You’ve been gone longer than you said.”

“That why you won’t look at me?” Ryndoril asked, now pulling Ondolemar’s hood back to kiss the Altmer’s head. He ran his fingers through the golden hair. “I’m sorry, love. You know how it can be.”

“I am trying to finish my work,” Ondolemar said in reply to the Bosmer’s question.

“More evil Talos worshippers?” Ryndoril asked playfully, leaning over the Altmer’s shoulder. Then he frowned, pointing at the topmost page of notes. “What’s that?”

“Can you not tell?” Ondolemar snorted, glaring at the drawing. “A Thalmor agent, stabbed in the head.”

“Who put that there?” Ryndoril demanded, his arms tightening protectively around Ondolemar. “Why is it on your desk?”

“Someone in the city,” Ondolemar shrugged, though he had to admit he was pleased at the Bosmer’s protectiveness. “It isn’t all that surprising.”

“Surprising or not, that’s horrible,” Ryndoril said harshly. Though it was only a drawing – and not a good one – the idea of it made him ache. “Someone’s trying to threaten you?”

“I believe it more likely they were trying to mock me, actually,” Ondolemar sighed, finally setting down his quill. He reached up to squeeze Ryndoril’s arms as well. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Someone draws you with a dagger in your head, and I’m not supposed to worry about it?” Ryndoril asked indignantly. “What the hell happened while I was gone?”

“That has nothing to do with what happened,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “Surely you must know that’s the general attitude of the people of Skyrim toward any Thalmor agent.”

“I don’t like someone who lives here threatening you,” Ryndoril argued. “If I find out who did that – “

“Ryn,” Ondolemar said with a small smile, “if you were to do anything to anyone who wants to threaten me, you’d need to slaughter the city. Or more likely, Skyrim. Why do you think I have guards?” Ryndoril was quiet for a moment as he contemplated that.

“I guess I just never realized,” he said softly. “Is it really that dangerous?”

“Not terribly so, no,” Ondolemar said, shrugging. “I do, after all, have powers these Nords could never hope for, and I have the distinct advantage of _knowing_ everyone loathes me. It isn’t as though I’m oblivious to it.” Ryndoril squeezed him more tightly again.

“ _I_ don’t loathe you,” Ryndoril murmured, still sounding worried. Ondolemar had to smile at that.

“I know you don’t, Ryn,” he assured the Bosmer, finally turning to look at him. “You’re back, then?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said with a small smile. He really didn’t like how that drawing made him feel. “I missed you. And I _am_ sorry – I was delayed a little in Riften this time, with Guild business.”

“It’s alright,” Ondolemar said. “I’m glad you’re here, though. I could use a little help.”

“You?” Ryndoril asked, pretending to be shocked. “ _You_? The great and powerful Thalmor Justiciar Commander, superiorly-bred Altmer of the Reach? The mer whose magic outdoes all others – “

“Oh, do shut up,” Ondolemar snorted. He usually hated being mocked, but he knew the Bosmer wasn’t doing it to be cruel, so he found it rather amusing. “Yes. I need your help. But if you’re going to be an arse about it, I will continue handling it on my own.” Ryndoril laughed, leaning over and kissing the Altmer.

“What is it?” he asked. “I’d love to help you.”

Ondolemar explained the situation, Ryndoril listening carefully.

“I’m liking the Ambassador less every time you mention her,” Ryndoril said wryly when Ondolemar was finished. Ondolemar rolled his eyes.

“Oh, she is simply _lovely_ ,” he said sarcastically. “I’d invite you to one of her parties so you could meet her, but it wouldn’t do for both of us to die of boredom.” Ryndoril laughed.

“I’ve already gotten the sense I’m better off with her not knowing me,” he said.

“You are,” Ondolemar said dryly.

“Well, alright, then,” Ryndoril said, standing up properly now. “So you need me to talk to the people around here and see what I can find out about the Forsworn, is that it?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar nodded. “I would appreciate it.”

“Sure thing, love,” Ryndoril grinned then. “Do I need to get started right away, or do I have time for a proper welcome-home first?” he added cheekily. Ondolemar snorted again.

“I am busy, as you can clearly see,” he said, though his thoughts of a little while ago with the Bosmer chained to his desk chose to resurface. “I have to finish this now.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to send a more thorough report after I get your information?” Ryndoril suggested.

“In which case, you ought to be going out to _get_ my information,” Ondolemar said. As much as he’d missed the Bosmer, and as much as he wanted to simply forget everything and take him, he knew he couldn’t – not then.

“And I will,” Ryndoril grinned mischievously. “As soon as I’m finished here.”

“And I do believe you _are_ finished here,” Ondolemar replied. “So get going.” Ryndoril laughed.

“I’m not one of your guards,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head in amusement. “You don’t get to just order me around.” Ondolemar arched an eyebrow imperiously.

“I have asked for your assistance, and you have offered to provide it,” Ondolemar said. “I suggest you do as I tell you.”

“And I suggest you take some time to relax,” Ryndoril grinned. “Come on, love – I know you need to.”

“I _need_ to finish my work,” Ondolemar said, turning back to it and trying to ignore the Bosmer despite the tempting invitation. “And you need to go do as I have asked. Perhaps I will see you this evening.”

“I don’t want to wait until this evening,” Ryndoril practically purred, his lips all of a sudden at Ondolemar’s ear. The Altmer shuddered at the sensation – gods, but the Bosmer would drive him mad!

“Ryn, go,” Ondolemar said shakily, trying to control himself and be firm. Ryndoril’s hot tongue flicked in his ear, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the desk in front of him to keep from grabbing the Bosmer.

“But I _need_ you,” Ryndoril whispered, the sensual breath sending tremors through Ondolemar.

Well.

That settled _that_.

With a growl of need, Ondolemar spun around as he got to his feet, pulling the Bosmer into his arms and kissing him fiercely, almost devouring him. Auri-El, he had missed the elf, and he needed him so badly, so desperately, that at the moment nothing else mattered.

“You don’t listen very well,” Ondolemar breathed as he pulled away from the Bosmer far enough to start undoing the catches on his armor. 

“Never have, never will,” Ryndoril grinned, dizzy from the force of the kiss.

“I suggest you start listening to _me_ ,” Ondolemar said, his voice a commanding growl as he yanked the Bosmer’s armor off, exposing the elf to the cool air in the room.

“And miss this?” Ryndoril asked, his eyes dark with want now. Clearly the Altmer was just as interested as Ryndoril in this, whatever he tried to claim. “Not a chance, love.”

“Remove your trousers,” Ondolemar demanded, now working on his own robes. He wasn’t going to keep waiting, not this time; he knew what he wanted and he was damn well going to have it. Ryndoril quickly obeyed; that was certainly an instruction he didn’t mind following.

Ondolemar finished undoing his robes, though he left them on – he didn’t care enough to remove them just now. His annoyance from the afternoon was spurring him on just as much as Ryndoril’s actions, and when he looked up again, he found the Bosmer standing bare before him. An angry red burn covered one shoulder, and the Altmer found his annoyance growing at whoever had dared harm Ryndoril.

“What happened?” he demanded, stepping over to the Bosmer. His protectiveness had overridden his desire for the moment.

“One of the bandits I fought was a mage,” Ryndoril said, shrugging it off. “It’s not a big deal.” He winced as Ondolemar pressed his gloved fingers to it; it was still tender, despite his healing potions.

“Not a big deal,” Ondolemar scoffed. He let his healing magic flow through the Bosmer, healing the worst of the wound. “I hope you killed him.”

“I did,” Ryndoril smiled, reaching up to brush Ondolemar’s cheek with his fingers. “Thanks, love. I appreciate it.”

“You know you only need ask,” Ondolemar said, his tone a bit softer at the Bosmer’s touch. Those gentle fingertips never failed to calm him slightly. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head though he was amused. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” Ondolemar said, his voice turning rough again as he squeezed the Bosmer to him, kissing him hard once more. Ryndoril groaned as he felt the Altmer’s hardness brush against his stomach through the leather trousers. He wedged a hand between them to unlace the trousers and stroked the silken hardness between Ondolemar’s legs, drawing a shuddering moan from the Altmer. When Ondolemar’s head tilted back in his pleasure, Ryndoril occupied himself by leaning in and flicking his tongue across the mer’s sensitive nipples, one hand holding the Altmer’s hip as the other continued to stroke him. “Ryn,” Ondolemar moaned, the wet tongue making him shiver as it slid over the sensitive skin.

“Hmm?” Ryndoril hummed in reply, pulling one of Ondolemar’s hardened nipples between his soft lips and sucking gently on it, the rough edge of the Thalmor robes brushing his nose.

“Ahh!” Ondolemar cried as Ryndoril bit it softly with his teeth, his knees buckling as the pleasant sensation overwhelmed him. Ryndoril laughed, pulling back and steadying the Altmer. “Divines, Ryn…”

“You’re so sensitive there,” Ryndoril marveled. He ran a finger over the pebbled flesh, just a light touch, and Ondolemar shuddered – it nearly tickled, sensitive as he was. “You want to head over to the bed?” he asked with a grin, looking up at the Altmer. Ondolemar looked down at Ryndoril, his grip tightening on the Bosmer as he pulled the elf’s hand away from his chest.

“You seem to be under the mistaken impression that _you_ are dictating this,” Ondolemar said, his voice rough and his green eyes burning with desire. “I think you owe me, elf, for being gone so long _and_ refusing to listen to me earlier.”

“That so?” Ryndoril asked, a bit breathless. He loved it when Ondolemar became so commanding like this, and the ragged quality of the Altmer’s voice told Ryndoril that it was a very good thing to have interrupted him earlier.

“Yes,” Ondolemar practically growled, and the next second Ryndoril felt the Altmer’s long, gloved fingers squeezing his bare rear end. He moaned softly at the touch of the warm leather.

“Then I am yours to command,” Ryndoril murmured, gazing heatedly at the elf standing over him. Ondolemar gave a possessive growl, the words doing amazing things to him, before turning Ryndoril around to face his desk, kicking his chair aside.

“Place your hands on the desk,” Ondolemar said, using what Ryndoril liked to call his Thalmor Voice – deep and authoritative. Ryndoril grinned as he obeyed; that voice sent shivers down his spine in the most delicious way.

Ondolemar stared for the briefest moment, taking in the sight of the completely naked Bosmer bent willingly over his desk. The elf’s hands spread flat on the desktop, clearly eagerly awaiting whatever Ondolemar’s next move was. The sight made him _ache_.

“Wait there,” Ondolemar said roughly, hurrying to his bedside table and pulling out the bottle of oil. He quickly returned to the wood elf, running a hand over the Bosmer’s skin and watching him shiver.

“Going to take those off?” Ryndoril asked breathlessly, in reference to Ondolemar’s gloves.

“Do I need to?” Ondolemar asked, arching an eyebrow. The Bosmer certainly seemed to be enjoying himself with the gloves _on_.

“No,” Ryndoril said, and groaned as Ondolemar squeezed his hip possessively. “Gods. Stay…stay just like that.” Ondolemar smirked. 

“You want me to fuck you wearing my robes?” Ondolemar asked, his voice rough with desire as he slid his gloved hand along Ryndoril’s back, then over his buttocks. Ryndoril whimpered in need, too excited by the thought to reply.

Well, _this_ was certainly something he’d never done before, Ondolemar thought, smirking to himself. He found it amusing – and arousing – that the Bosmer seemed to like his uniform so much.

Ondolemar glanced at the oil in his other hand, hesitating a moment; it would be far more sanitary to remove the gloves first, wouldn’t it? The thought of keeping them on while he pressed his fingers inside the Bosmer _was_ enticing, though, and he always did keep them _clean_. While he contemplated, his hand drifted down, pressing between Ryndoril’s buttocks and rubbing a leather-covered finger over the puckered opening there.

“Gods,” Ryndoril whined, and Ondolemar saw his fists clench on the desk. He had his answer – he was definitely leaving them on, regardless of having to clean them again later. It was far more important to give the Bosmer what he so clearly wanted.

“Hold _still_ ,” Ondolemar breathed, his voice still deep and demanding even in his desire. He quickly coated two fingers with oil, setting the bottle on the desk near Ryndoril’s hand before sliding both fingers over the Bosmer’s opening.

Ryndoril was trembling with anticipation; the very idea of Ondolemar leaving his entire uniform on while taking him…and the feeling of those warm, leather-covered fingers on him! It was enough to drive the Bosmer mad. He felt one gloved finger begin to enter him, and his knees buckled as he whimpered a cry. Ondolemar chuckled softly.

“None of that,” Ondolemar chastised, wrapping his other arm around the Bosmer to help support him. Without giving Ryndoril more than a moment to adjust, Ondolemar added the second finger, pressing into the wood elf firmly.

“Ahh!” Ryndoril yelped. It hurt a little, he had to admit, but by the Divines did it feel _good_! Ondolemar was rarely so rough with him, but the slight pain always served to make Ryndoril enjoy it even more.

“Alright?” Ondolemar asked breathlessly, only slightly concerned. He knew the Bosmer could take more than it seemed, and was fairly sure he wasn’t truly hurting the elf.

“Y-yes,” Ryndoril replied shakily, relaxing again. “Gods, love…please,” he begged, gasping when Ondolemar pressed both fingers further into him, stretching him just a bit more than fingers alone. The soft leather acting as a barrier between the Altmer’s fingers and Ryndoril’s passage was maddening – it felt so amazingly good, but it wasn’t quite _right_ , either. And the implications of defiling Ondolemar’s uniform in such a way…well, that wasn’t doing anything _bad_ for the Bosmer’s arousal.

Ondolemar realized that it was a little more difficult to do this properly now; through the leather, he couldn’t feel inside the Bosmer the way he was used to.

“You’ll have to tell me when I – ah,” he finished with a grin as Ryndoril moaned loudly. Clearly, he’d found the spot he’d meant to hit. He definitely preferred doing this without the gloves; he _liked_ to feel the Bosmer around his bare fingers, but as much as Ryndoril was enjoying himself with this, he certainly wouldn’t complain.

Ondolemar adjusted the arm that was supporting the Bosmer, moving so he could grasp the elf’s hardened length with his other hand.

“ _Fuck_ , yes,” Ryndoril groaned as the leather wrapped around his cock, stroking him gently. “Love, oh _gods_ …” There was something so immensely _powerful_ about being bent over the Altmer’s desk, being stroked by him while he wasn’t even fully disrobed.

“You’ve wanted this for a while, haven’t you?” Ondolemar guessed. It _would_ be just like the Bosmer to think of such things. Then again, he was starting to wonder why he hadn’t thought of it himself.

“Yes,” Ryndoril whined, thrusting into Ondolemar’s grip. “Ondolemar – “

“ _Commander_ ,” Ondolemar growled the demand, squeezing Ryndoril hard as he shoved his fingers inside him. He could tell the Bosmer was getting off on this power play, and truthfully he was as well.

“Commander,” Ryndoril whimpered in response, panting for breath. Oh, gods, how did the Altmer _know_ that was what he needed? “Please…take me.” Ondolemar couldn’t restrain himself any longer at hearing the plea, particularly accompanied by his title that way. He leaned over the wood elf, pressing his still-partially-clothed body against Ryndoril’s naked skin, licking his ear. Ryndoril cried out.

“Kiss me,” Ondolemar commanded into the Bosmer’s ear, and at once Ryndoril turned his head, letting the Altmer capture his lips. Thrusting his tongue against the wood elf’s, Ondolemar pulled his fingers from Ryndoril and rested them against his hip. Ryndoril moaned pathetically at the loss – he would give anything for the Altmer to keep going. “Just a moment,” Ondolemar murmured against Ryndoril’s lips, nipping at the lower one before pulling away. Ryndoril’s head turned back, sagging slightly as he breathed even harder, Ondolemar’s hand still stroking away on him.

“St-stop,” Ryndoril managed to choke out. Ondolemar’s hand stilled at once; the Bosmer never asked him to stop, and now he couldn’t help but be a little worried that he’d gone too far.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” Ryndoril said, sounding utterly desperate for the Altmer to continue. “Just…I’m not going to last much longer if you keep that up.”

“I see,” Ondolemar smirked, his worry immediately fading, and gave one last, hard stroke to the wood elf, making him yelp before pulling his hand away. Yanking off his gloves impatiently, in no mood to keep denying himself the feel of the elf’s skin, he tossed them to the ground before grabbing the bottle of oil.

Ryndoril was trembling in anticipation; Divines, this was the hottest thing he’d _ever_ done. Ondolemar taking charge, being demanding and controlling like this…it was far more exquisite than he’d ever expected. He’d truly missed Ondolemar while he’d been away, and being held up longer than expected hadn’t helped. Combined with the delicious way the _Commander_ was taking charge of him, he really wasn’t going to last much longer.

After a moment, he felt the Altmer’s slickened length against him. He shook, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk to try and steady himself somehow, and then Ondolemar was pushing inside him, making his knees tremble.

“Gods,” he choked out in a whimper at the sensation; sure, feeling Ondolemar’s fingers – covered by the leather gloves, even! – had been incredible, but feeling his lover taking him this way…it never got any less amazing to him. The Altmer’s length pressing into him, letting him feel every possible inch as Ondolemar filled him.

“ _Fuck_ , yes,” Ondolemar growled through gritted teeth, feeling the Bosmer’s tight heat enveloping him. He couldn’t get enough of this mer, no matter how long he had him; that was certain. Once he was in far enough to stop guiding himself, he roughly grabbed Ryndoril’s hips with both hands and thrust himself the rest of the way inside the wood elf all at once.

“ _Ondolemar_!” Ryndoril cried out at the sensation. It was less painful than he would’ve expected, though a stinging feeling was still there, but he wouldn’t have had it any other way. Ondolemar clearly knew what he was doing, however, and paused then to give Ryndoril a moment to get used to him.

“Mine,” Ondolemar growled, lifting the Bosmer’s hips a bit to make thrusting into the shorter elf easier. Ryndoril found himself supporting his weight with his hands on the desk as the Altmer held his legs up off the ground. He could feel the edges of Ondolemar’s robes brushing roughly against his skin, reminding him that the mer was still wearing them.

“Yours,” Ryndoril breathed in agreement, feeling very strongly _claimed_. Ondolemar held the Bosmer firmly and started to slide back out of him. “Yes…yes…yes…” Ryndoril panted with each breath, unable to stop himself.

“Gods,” Ondolemar groaned, not able to keep quiet either - he rarely was. Keeping his pace slow, he began thrusting in and out of the Bosmer, squeezing Ryndoril’s hips every time he sheathed himself inside him. Both were moaning almost constantly now, lost in the feel of one another.

Ryndoril was desperate to touch himself, but with the rough rhythm of Ondolemar’s thrusting, he couldn’t support himself with only one hand to do it. He whined deep in his throat, growing more desperate at Ondolemar’s increased pace.

“What…is…it?” Ondolemar grunted, too far gone to be able to concentrate well.

“Need…you,” Ryndoril choked, barely coherent. “Touch…ohhh!” Ondolemar thrust deep, distracting him with the sensation of being filled.

“You’ll get it when I’m ready to give it to you,” Ondolemar said harshly, far too lost in the moment to think how strange it was for him to say such a thing to the Bosmer – much more demanding than he ever was with Ryndoril.

“Gods,” Ryndoril grunted. He wondered briefly what was wrong with him to be so affected by such a statement, but as Ondolemar hit the sensitive place inside of him, he forgot to wonder anymore. Everything was simply bliss.

Ondolemar knew he wasn’t going to hold out long now; it was too thrilling being inside the Bosmer again after his frustrating few days. He needed this more than he ever would have admitted to anyone.

“Ryn…” Ondolemar panted, thrusting into the Bosmer with little control left. “Ryn…gods…”

“Yes,” Ryndoril said, his yell quieter for his choked breath. “Yes, Ondolemar – take me… _Commander_.” He groaned out the last word and Ondolemar couldn’t help it anymore; with a hoarse cry of the Bosmer’s name, he spilled inside him, squeezing the wood elf’s hips hard enough to leave marks with his nails. “Gods,” Ryndoril whimpered, right on the edge and desperate for his own release after the Altmer finished. Feeling Ondolemar release inside of him was the best thing he’d ever experienced, no question.

“Yes,” Ondolemar breathed, setting the Bosmer down again though staying inside him. He knew what Ryndoril wanted, and he very much wanted to give it to him. “Yes, Ryn,” he murmured, leaning over and wrapping his arms around the elf, his words tickling Ryndoril’s ear. Ondolemar wrapped his fingers around Ryndoril’s length again, feeling it hard as stone and hot to the touch; yes, the Bosmer needed this badly.

“Love…love please,” Ryndoril begged, and Ondolemar could feel the Bosmer trembling beneath him. Keeping an arm wrapped around the wood elf, Ondolemar stroked him while his tongue flicked at the Bosmer’s ear.

“Yes, Ryn,” Ondolemar whispered encouragingly. “Come for me, Ryndoril.” The words were all it took.

“Ondolemar!” Ryndoril cried, coming undone entirely. His hips jerked as he spilled himself all over Ondolemar’s hand, some hitting the desk as well. Ondolemar continued his murmured encouragement in Ryndoril’s ear, feeling the wood elf squeezing around his own softening member. Hearing his own name called out like that in the height of passion, from the very elf who meant so much to him, was the most lovely sound in the world.

Finally, Ryndoril nearly collapsed; he would have fallen if Ondolemar’s arm hadn’t been holding him so tightly. Gasping for breath, he tried to get himself under control to stand up – it had been so much more intense than usual, and his body was trying to come to terms with it. He felt Ondolemar slide out of him and stand upright, and to his slight surprise, the elf’s next move was to help him stand up properly and guide him over to the bed, a sturdy arm wrapped around him for balance.

Ryndoril leaned into the Altmer, feeling quite content and very tender toward Ondolemar.

“Lie down,” Ondolemar said softly, letting Ryndoril slide down onto the bed. Ryndoril smiled up at him.

“You’re being very kind all of a sudden,” he said. Ondolemar’s ears reddened slightly, but he sounded perfectly calm when he replied.

“Well, after your _interruption_ , I’m feeling charitable,” he said, a smirk betraying his serious words. Ryndoril laughed.

“Charitable indeed,” the Bosmer sighed. “You better not be planning to go back to work,” he added threateningly as Ondolemar walked across the room.

“Of course I’m not,” Ondolemar snorted. He could already feel himself becoming rather sleepy – there was no way he could focus on work this way. He picked up a washing cloth from near the tub in the corner, then walked over to the desk. He knew he would never rest easy with such a mess covering his floor and desk – it was bad enough he’d need to clean his gloves, but that at least could wait. This would bother him endlessly. After he cleaned up, something caught his eye, and he laughed out loud.

“What?” Ryndoril asked curiously, though too comfortable on the bed to bother getting up to see.

“This,” Ondolemar said grabbing a piece of paper from the desk and walking back toward the bed. He handed it to Ryndoril, who laughed too. He had made quite the mess of the horrible drawing that was obscuring Ondolemar’s notes.

The Altmer undressed then, crawling into bed next to Ryndoril.

“I think I’ve ruined your notes,” Ryndoril commented.

“Not like they were much use to begin with,” Ondolemar sighed, kissing the Bosmer’s temple. “If anything, you improved it.” Ryndoril snorted with laughter. It was so unlike Ondolemar to say such a cheeky thing, but he was quickly coming to enjoy those moments.

“Well, it’s a mess anyway,” Ryndoril replied, crumpling it up and tossing it aside. He knew the image would still haunt him, but it did make him feel a little better to have ruined it, in a vindictive sort of way. He let Ondolemar pull him into his arms then, cuddling close to the Altmer. “I think I like you bending me over your desk,” he said cheekily, pressing a kiss to the elf’s chin.

“I can’t believe you’ve already _thought_ about it,” Ondolemar replied tiredly, shaking his head. “Insatiable Bosmer.”

“Well, believe me, nothing I imagined came close to that,” Ryndoril chuckled. He squeezed Ondolemar’s arm closer to him. “Missed you, love,” he murmured softly.

“I missed _you_ , Ryn,” Ondolemar replied. “I’m glad you’re home.” Ryndoril smiled in agreement before they both drifted off to sleep.


End file.
